The Path Of Dreams
by Daemon faerie queen
Summary: Two years after she has rescued her brother from the Goblin King, Sarah believes her holiday job will be pleasantly uneventful. Little does she know that the Underground has other plans for her...


THE PATH OF DREAMS  
  
Sarah sighed into the pre-steamed window of the bus, catching a glimpse of white fields through the finger-trails she had made on the glass. A thin sheet of paper fluttered in her hands with the words 'Eastden Animal Sanctuary' blaring out in blue ink above a series of dotted lines containing her information.  
  
It had been a couple of years since her ordeal, since she had changed her reclusive ways and selfish attitude. The conversations passed between her mirror had ceased and she supposed her friends had forgotten her. Even so, she remained a mature sister and daughter, stepdaughter too, although she did indulge in the wicked stepmother fantasy on occasion. Particularly now.  
  
Karen had decided it was time that she got a job during the December holiday and had succeeded in persuading her father (without much difficulty) to find one. At least working with animals wouldn't be too bad, she had thought. They couldn't be anywhere near as troublesome or smelly as her brother, Toby. That had been a jinx.  
  
At present, she was returning to the workplace on her second day, a little frustrated that she had had to wake herself up and make breakfast that morning. Her family seemed to think her absence a perfect time to stay for a week at her Auntie Susan's, which was probably for the best. She was happier with the incessant fur woven into her clothing and Poop-a-Scoop in hand.  
  
Thanking the driver, Sarah leapt down to the kerb and crossed to the other side of the road. She jogged up the crazy-paved steps and swung open the door of the reception.  
  
"Hey Joanne," she said to a middle-aged woman with golden-going-on-grey curls spilling onto her pale pink blouse.  
  
"Got my reference?" asked the woman, looking up from behind her desk.  
  
Sarah nodded and handed over the form she had been holding, slightly crinkled at the edges.  
  
"Just so people know you've worked here." Joanne gave her a kindly smile as she slipped the paper amongst her fortification of folders. "Ethan is in the cattery."  
  
Sarah allowed a blush to reach her cheeks as she left through one of the corridors that led into the open. Ethan was a few years older than her, dark tousled hair, handsome face and brilliant green eyes - like the cats, she thought.  
  
The cattery was breathtaking, assuming you could take one in without coughing up a fur-ball. The conditions for the animals were so neat and extravagant you could almost pretend the mesh fences were not there. All kinds, from Siamese to Burmese, tortoiseshell to Russian blue, lazed on top of shelves, skittered excitedly between her feet and batted a skilful paw at swinging bells on strings. At the very back of all the enclosures her eyes sparkled at the sight of the young man who crouched amongst a litter of kittens.  
  
"Hey Ethan, got any work for me?" she asked brightly, thankful her sentence had not come out gibberish.  
  
Ethan smiled, allowing a lock of black hair to shift across his tanned forehead.  
  
"There's not much left to do here. I got up early," he said, removing a mewing kitten from his lap and making his escape from the crèche. "Fed and cleaned and happy." He caught sight of Sarah's disheartened face. "Don't worry, I have a special job for you."  
  
He led the way out of the feline pens, bolting each gate deftly behind them before a rogue creature had time to think. Pressing on, Sarah felt curiosity overwhelm her, passing the stables with the two Shetland ponies, the reptile house inhabited by a few species of snake and Dinko the crocodile. They stopped outside an octagon-shaped animal house, white slats for sides with several sealed flaps dotted high and low.  
  
"Tell me," Ethan said with a hint of mischief. "How do you feel about owls?"  
  
Sarah was about to tell him exactly how she felt about owls when he threw open the door, exposing her to a flurry of flapping wings and piercing shrieks. Her attention darted from one hooked beak to the next, her heart beating wildly, her head faint.  
  
Seeing her distress, Ethan shut the door of the aviary and approached with concern.  
  
"Sarah, are you okay? I didn't mean for them to startle you."  
  
She caught her breath and shook her head. "I'm fine. I'll be all right," she said. "I still want to see them." She gestured for him to open the door again.  
  
With one hand on her shoulder, Ethan guided her into the small house. From where they met both ceiling and floor, each wall was covered with rows of pigeonholes, most of them occupied. Tawny owls, little owls, great owls and barn owls hooted and preened themselves, paying hardly any attention to their visitors. Sarah began to feel more at ease. They were really quite beautiful things, full of wisdom and character. The way they bobbed their bodies and shifted their feet, how they swivelled their heads in that comical fashion.  
  
"So what is it I have to do?" she grinned cheekily at her supervisor.  
  
"The birds have numbers attached to their feet," Ethan explained, giving her a pen and paper with a list of figures scrawled down the centre. "Tick off each one to let us know they're all here. After you tick off an owl, put some food in its bowl. Simple as that." He indicated a sealed tub of fresh meat strips propped up on a ledge to her right. "I'll be next door with Dinko. You can leave this door open, there's a wire ceiling over the whole sanctuary, and besides, they're all clipped. Any problems, just call me."  
  
The young man flashed her another dazzling smile, and then left her to it.   
  
Hours passed by and Sarah found she was rather enjoying her work, despite how tedious it was. The birds did not bother her and appeared quite grateful when she filled their bowls, some even daring to eat out of her hand.  
  
She was halfway down the list when the owl in the next pigeonhole surprised her. As she turned, the bird had moved to the very edge of its box to stare her directly in the face. She gasped and then let out a cheery laugh.  
  
"Well hello there," she addressed the owl that was of the purest white. "Aren't you pretty?" She peered under its leg feathers. "Let's see your number - oh!"   
  
There was no tag upon its foot.  
  
"That's odd," she said, and then peered out from the aviary. "Ethan!"  
  
He came jogging out of the reptile house with an inquisitive expression. She showed him the bird.  
  
"This one's not registered," Sarah told him, puzzled. "It doesn't have a number."  
  
Ethan regarded the owl, which had retreated further into its box, with a frown.  
  
"Strange, I don't recognise this one. Have you checked all the others off?" he asked.  
  
Sarah shook her head and agreed she should do so. Perhaps this one had bitten off its tag and swallowed it or something to that effect. She continued into the afternoon checking off the last few birds, all present, no missing tags.  
  
"I suppose I'd better still feed you," she smirked at the mystery creature.  
  
Selecting a strip of meat from the plastic container, she placed it carefully into a spare dish she had found lying about, and then set it in front of the owl. She gave out a small cry of shock as the dish was propelled back at her, the contents splattering over the floor.  
  
"Why you stubborn little-." She stopped when her gaze met that of the glaring bird. It was then she noticed that its eyes were perfectly contrasted, one blue, one hazel.   
  
Sarah lifted her nose in a haughty fashion, shunning a memory without meaning. "Fine, starve then! I'm off for my break!"  
  
She walked out of the owl house and seated herself upon a bench just outside, surely provided for visitors. She took out a dark red apple from her pocket and was about to bite into it when she thought she sensed something brush past her hair. Impossible, she told herself, these owls couldn't fly.  
  
The air caught in her chest when she looked again. Her apple was gone.  
  
It was in a matter of moments that she had fetched Ethan, who was now beginning to reek of flaked lizard skin, and complained about the unregistered owl. He was at a loss for words, running his fingers through his matted hair. He tried to get a hold on the bird but only resulted in needing a plaster on his thumb.  
  
"This is unusual," her supervisor winced, poking ruefully at his wound. "He's not clipped, he's not registered, and he certainly doesn't look sick. What's more, he doesn't like me. I can't think of any reason why he'd stay." Ethan shrugged at Sarah. "Maybe he's found himself a girlfriend."  
  
He left the aviary again, Sarah intent to follow. She paused at a loud tapping coming from one of the pigeonholes. It did not take her long to figure out which one.  
  
"What now?" she growled at the gleaming white owl.  
  
It stared blankly in reply, but this time not at her. She turned her head in response to see a browned apple core resting in an empty box on the other side. The owl hooted in reply to her dark mutters as she abandoned the aviary, shutting the door behind her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sarah spent the next few days in the company of Joanne in the reception. There was not an awful lot to do but at least she could get by without treading in something disgusting or needing more than one shower per day. She heard very little of the aviary save that Ethan was still unsuccessful in removing the troublemaker from its box and that it had become more of a nuisance than ever since she had stopped tending to the birds.  
  
One late afternoon she found she had fallen asleep amongst an array of papers and post-it notes. Rubbing her eyes and glancing around in embarrassment, she noticed the object that lay on the desk. Lifting the feather gently from where it rested, she was astonished by its softness, the way one false breath could carry it effortlessly through the air.  
  
"You're quite fond of that bird, aren't you?" Joanne's alto voice rang out, breaking Sarah's trance. "I'm always picking those damn feathers out of your hair." The rosy-cheeked woman smiled beneath her spectacles. "Why don't you take him today for tomorrow's day off?"  
  
"What?" Sarah blurted, feeling as though she had been absent during a chapter of her life.  
  
"Don't tell me you've forgotten already? You only handed it to me fifteen minutes ago," Joanne replied, waving a sheet of paper at her from her side of the room.  
  
Sarah dashed over and grabbed it out of her hand. Scouring the paper, she could see it was an adoption form and it was signed in *her* handwriting.  
  
"This, this is ridiculous!" she spluttered.  
  
"That's what I thought, but you've agreed to it. You've made Ethan feel a whole lot happier about going into that room, I can tell you!"  
  
For a moment, very briefly, Sarah considered the woman's words with suspicion. Surely Ethan would not do such a thing? Hadn't Joanne said she'd seen *her* give in the form? Maybe she *had* written it. The owl, she had to admit, was pretty. On the plus side, she had made Ethan happy. That had to be worth something.  
  
So it was that evening that Sarah made her way out of the sanctuary bearing a large cage, not even questioning what she would do with it or how they had got the impudent creature inside.  
  
No sooner had she stepped off the bus and onto her home street, the bird started a loud commotion. It screeched and flapped, biting the bars of its enclosure. The din aroused her anger enough to fling open the door.  
  
"Sod off then!"  
  
She watched the owl soar off into the oncoming darkness then she stormed home with the empty cage.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A loud battering at her window woke Sarah from the comforts of her bed. She groaned and rolled out from the covers, now wearing her pyjamas and gladly not giving off animal odours. As she approached the window and drew back the pleated curtains, she faltered at the sight of flapping wings with the backdrop of wind and lightning. One name seared through her mind.  
  
She blinked away the vision. The sky was dark but there was no breeze and few spatters of rain. There was, however, an owl. Hands on hips, she scowled at the creature that beat the glass with wing and beak. Though it was a streak of pity, for what seemed to be a limp in its left leg as it hobbled on the ledge, which caused her to invite it inside.  
  
She had placed the cage on her dressing table and she now intended to put the bird back inside. The vicious thing pecked at her, just missing her fingers.  
  
"Have it your way, but don't blame me if you hurt your other leg!" she fumed. "And don't go flapping about my room." She observed that the owl had begun pacing the surface of her desk, playing on her sympathy with its limp. She paused in her scolding as she glanced inside the cage.  
  
"What's this-?"  
  
The crystal transformed into a speckled egg before she could recognise any change. Her fury sparked again when she took hold of the fragile thing.  
  
"It's bad enough having *one*!" she shrieked, reminiscent of her childish ways.  
  
She hurled the egg at her bedroom wall where she expected it to splatter in a gooey mess. Where it did hit was the centre of a poster of an enchanted forest. She may have removed the Escher picture with all its fearful staircases but it did not cause her to lose her love for the realm of fantasy. Her eyes widened for the egg had not shattered. Instead it had been engulfed by the poster, which now rippled like water. Sounds of rustling trees and chirping insects surged from what was once paper. The forest was alive.  
  
Sarah backed away at the sight of a dozen pairs of eyes peeling open in the blacker areas of the trees, then screamed as gnarled tree roots smothered with lichen burst forth to wrap around her limbs and waist. She saw the shadow of the owl as it hopped from her dressing table. Vines fastened across her mouth to stop her from crying out when the silhouette of wings became shoulders and arms, and the sound of three-toed footfalls gave way to the soft tread of boots.  
  
"Hello again Sarah," his voice whispered in her ear, harsh and beautiful as autumn leaves.  
  
Jareth brushed past her, purposefully limping as a mocking gesture, then turned and straightened. Dressed in the same shimmering white attire she had seen those two years ago, his golden pendant - a three-pointed star with a diamond jewel in the centre - beckoning with its swirling array of colours, its black chain sinking delightfully into the feathers of his collar. A misleading figure of purity, his pointed teeth glinted maliciously behind his flawless lips.  
  
"There's no need for you to say anything," he said silkily, observing the vines tighten around her face. "I will answer your questions as we go. They say all roads lead to one place. This forest was one artist's dream." He pointed to the animated picture then he leant in close enough for her to feel his hot breath on her neck. "And all dreams lead to the Underground."  
  
Sarah's scream was muffled as she was dragged into the enchanted forest, surrounded by the squabbles of a thousand creatures and the heart-stopping laugh of the Goblin King.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When she had regained her senses from the terrible journey, Sarah found herself lying on a cold stone floor strewn with rubble. She sat up and pushed her dark hair out of her eyes, knowing immediately that she was not alone.  
  
"What am I doing here?" she called out to her watcher, not looking in any particular direction.  
  
"You, my love, are here to rebuild what you so cruelly destroyed," Jareth said bluntly, appearing to her left, leaning against what was left of a wall. The whole room was incomplete, the throne room. Where walls and pieces of floor had been, there was a black void. "When you defeated me, you damaged my castle. I thought it only fair that you be the one to reconstruct it, piece by piece."  
  
Sarah laughed.  
  
"Fair? Since when have you ever been fair? You have no power over me!"  
  
Her triumphant expression was banished when he chuckled.  
  
"My dear, naïve girl. I'm afraid that rule no longer applies." He moved from his resting position and walked casually towards her. "You see, this time it's not your baby brother I have stolen. It's *you*."  
  
Sarah was exasperated, "But who would wish me away?"  
  
He could not help but grin at her panic-stricken features. "Over the years I have mustered enough power from those girls who failed in order to alter your world. Your receptionist happened to be one of those simple-minded people who reads strange notes out loud in the hope that it would make sense."  
  
"You tricked her!" Sarah roared.  
  
Jareth pursed his lips indignantly, raising an owl-wing eyebrow.  
  
"Well, I won't build your stupid castle!" she added, suddenly aware of how pre-school that sounded.  
  
The Goblin King halted in front of her; his knees level with her raised head. He peered down at her patronisingly.  
  
"I'm too good to you, Sarah. Always with your expectations and here I am not even giving you a time limit."  
  
She recalled the clock with thirteen hours, how a wave of his hand had caused the hours to spin by in seconds.  
  
"Why can't all those goblins of yours do it?"  
  
"My goblins," he replied, imitating her, "won't work for me until they have a suitable environment to live in. This task is only for you."  
  
A fragment of hope lit up her deep brown eyes as she thought of her friends: the dwarf, the fox and the beast. Leaping to her feet, she commenced in shouting as loud as her lungs would bear.  
  
"Ludo! Hoggle! Didymus!"  
  
"They can't hear you," Jareth said, unaffected by her volume. "They're down there."   
  
He pointed to the blackness beyond and Sarah made her way to the edge. Looking down, she could see the old Labyrinth miles below her feet. She glared back at the Goblin King with defiance.  
  
"Then that's where I'll go," she spat, readying her bare toes on the jagged edge of stone.  
  
"I wouldn't do that Sarah," he said, his celestial eyes narrowing.  
  
"I'm not you," she spoke simply, and leapt off.  
  
Jareth acted quickly, passing his palms to create a crystal and gliding to the ledge from which she had leapt. He flicked his wrist, sending the glass sphere hurtling after her.  
  
Sarah could hardly think for the wind bristling through her nightclothes and pulling at the flesh of her cheekbones. The hard texture of the maze walls loomed ever closer. She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.   
  
Suddenly, she was jolted and dragged back up through the air as something enormous got a grip of her waist. When the rush ceased, she gaped at the gigantic claw wrapped about her middle.  
  
Every emotion possible drained when she was brought to face the Polydragon. Four slavering snouts and eight fiery eyes hovered above her as though contemplating which one would eat which part. Dark crimson scales coated each neck down to its immense body and limbs, petering out at its splayed, sail wings. Occupied with the horror that held her in its palm, she did not turn to see the chilling sight of Jareth walking down a staircase of thin air to reclaim her, solid slabs of stone rushing up to meet each boot as it stepped.  
  
The Polydragon released its captive, allowing her to fall limply into Jareth's arms. He nodded to the monster to acknowledge its success and then returned up the walkway that dissolved behind his heels. No sooner had he dropped Sarah onto the dishevelled throne room floor, she was up on her feet and striking him furiously in the chest with her fists. Her hysteria was so deep, she did not know when it was she fell through him and started beating the ground.  
  
"When you've quite finished," Jareth said, becoming opaque a few metres away from her. He challenged her smouldering look with his own icy glare. "If you do not do as I command, I shall turn you into a goblin." It was not a joke, his lips made no tremble at either corner.  
  
"No you won't," Sarah answered quietly.  
  
The Goblin King fanned out his white cloak then drew it in like a magician as a tiny creature with an ugly face and big ears scurried up to her. It bowed its head to reveal a sparkling tiara, then laughed and dashed over the edge of the abyss with an exhilarated shriek.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sarah did not know how long she had been working, placing brick after brick that magically sealed itself. It did not matter if she put one in the wrong place, for it would move of its own accord and make up another part of the jigsaw. It seemed to be the effort that counted.  
  
Jareth watched her in secrecy, never missing a moment of her toil through the convex view of one of his crystals. He lounged idly on his throne whilst it hovered in oblivion, surveying her despairing face with mirth.  
  
"Perhaps a little music would cheer her up," he mused.  
  
Sarah paused her labour as a song started to hum about the ruins. She sat back on her heels, sucking her teeth irritably as she listened. She despised his irony, how he could conjure 'Suffragette City' as she broke her nails and coughed up dust, using its upbeat tune to deride her very being. What made it worse was the uncanny similarity of David Bowie's voice with that of Jareth's. She wondered why that was.  
  
"How's the restoration going, Sarah?"  
  
She whirled around to slap him, her wrist catching in his gloved palm as the lyrics sang "*Wham bam, thank you ma'am*". The impeccable timing caused him to grin with pleasure. A section of the throne room wall repaired itself.  
  
"You must be tired. How would you like to dance with me again, for old time's sake?" he chuckled, the tip of his tongue running along the gap between his teeth. Her pyjamas became a flowing silver gown with delicate lace trimmings and a matching sash.  
  
"I'd rather dance with an incontinent sloth!" she seethed, her voice menacing.  
  
"Harsh words for a pretty girl's tongue," Jareth said, sliding his other hand about her waist and jerking her in close to his body so that the scent of spices and cinnamon overpowered her senses. "The less you resist, the less work you have to do." In response, another wall section that would have been too heavy for Sarah to lift slotted into place.  
  
She struggled in his grasp. "Fuck you!"  
  
"Now now, Sarah. I wouldn't want to go throwing around such tempting offers if I were you," the Goblin King hissed seductively. "Although that certainly would make your task shorter." Again he revealed his steak-knife canines in a terrifyingly lewd manner.  
  
Sarah pulled back from him so feebly this time that he released her. Her expression was one of disbelief not only of him but herself.  
  
"You tricked me again," she said matter-of-factly. "You never told me what I must do to go home."  
  
Jareth regarded her in much the way an adult does when it prepares to tell a child what happens after people stop breathing.  
  
"Ever wondered why the Labyrinth is just a story, Sarah? It's not just about the baby. It's about *you*. You truly think that you are the only one to solve such a simple puzzle and take back your child?" His solemnity changed to a half grin. "Really Sarah, I'm surprised at how much you underestimate me. The Labyrinth has remained a story because when the babies grow up, they forget. No one ever asks what happens to the girl."  
  
"And what does happen to the girl?" Sarah asked scornfully, though she feared the answer.  
  
Jareth observed her like a piece of horseflesh, then stepped close enough to invade her personal space.  
  
"She kisses the prince..." He kissed her on the lips, enjoying her struggle as he held her shoulders, then becoming enthused as the will of her body numbed her resistance. The second he believed the action to be mutual, he released. "And turns into a frog." He burst out laughing.  
  
Sarah screamed and fell to her knees, shaking with fear and loathing at the vision of her hands, slimy, oozing with a viscous substance. Her fingers were webbed together. As the laughter died away, Jareth disappeared along with the illusion.  
  
As if to remind her of the task at hand, a chattering goblin not unlike the one with the tiara meandered through the rubble, his large feet slapping on the stone floor. Sarah snatched up another brick and continued from where the wall ended. Every piece she slotted together, she made time to mutter a foul word about her surrogate master, anything to drive away the sensation of his embrace.  
  
A slab of rock slipped through her fingers as an involuntary image flashed through her mind. She felt as though she were glowing, her mouth varying between wet and parched. Whenever she thought about it, the vivid scene would return and she could taste him. She was brimming with revulsion at her own body's desires.   
  
A rumbling noise drew away her attention. She turned to see the whole mid-section of the floor fix itself. Confused, she took up her brick again. Once more, as she was about to drop the brick in place, she could remember the cinnamon that invoked fire, a liquefied flame that begged to drown her soul. She broke her own fantasy and slammed the brick down, removing her hand just in time as a whole wall stacked on top.  
  
She stood up and stared at the half-finished room, breathing heavily, willing the insane warmth of lust to leave her again. She backed away, trying desperately to avert her thoughts to something, anything. Her back met something solid but soft. The enticing incense made her head swim and she span around to face him.  
  
Jareth glanced about the walls, now wearing the glittering black cape she recognised from their first meeting. He looked neither surprised nor annoyed.  
  
"How did you do this?" he asked.  
  
"As if you didn't know!" Sarah retorted.  
  
"I don't," he answered innocently. "Pray tell what you did. It obviously pleased me." His conflicting eyes laughed silently.  
  
"All hail King Jareth," she growled, her voice prickled with sarcasm. Another slab of wall heaved into the three-dimensional puzzle.  
  
"Flattering though the thought is, I doubt that you did all of this with compliments," he sniggered, matching advancing steps with her backward ones. "What charming little scenes *has* our Sarah been conjuring?"  
  
In all her haste to retreat, Sarah fell, and in doing so knocked a pile of bricks over the edge to plummet to the Labyrinth beneath them. At that moment Jareth slammed a hand to his head in pain, screwing up his eyes, reminding her once more of his owlish form. Without thinking too clearly, overwhelmed with the need to cause him harm, she pulled herself up and began to punch the recently attached wall. Spurred on by his wincing, she ignored the bruising on her knuckles, driving her fists into the stone as though it were the Goblin King himself.  
  
Jareth gritted his teeth and made a run at her, but she was too fast. Sarah rolled across the floor and flicked a pebble into the void. She watched him stumble in his footing near the place where the throne room met empty air. Time slowed enough for him to dive elegantly, but not enough to prevent his fall. Sarah did not know how or why she lunged forward in an effort to catch him. But he was gone.  
  
She could feel her heart pulsing at her throat, her blood and oxygen becoming one dizzying, thick substance. She trod wearily back, trembling, confused, protecting herself from overbalancing and suffering the same fate.  
  
"You tried to save me, Sarah," the voice echoed in her head like a hallucination. Though it was a voice tipped with amusement.  
  
She looked up to see him standing on the wall. Her breath caught in her chest at the memory of the Escher room. His defiance of gravity never ceased to frighten her.  
  
"I didn't," she replied. "I tried to kill you."  
  
She turned away to find him standing in her path.  
  
"Don't lie to me Sarah."  
  
Exhausted, she clutched the shining silver garment to her, hating the way it showed every curve of her body. She summoned up enough energy to let words form. "I hate you."  
  
There was a colossal series of rumblings and resonating thuds that followed her utterance. When the last echo faded, she opened her eyes to see the old throne room in all its glory. Yet it had not been glorious when she saw it last. It had been littered with goblin filth and rags, and speckled with stray chickens. Instead, the walls were the tone of ivory, carpets of rich burgundy touched her naked toes and thousands of winking prisms swayed from chandeliers. But when she noted the expression on Jareth's face, he was not smiling.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked, bewildered. Surely it did not satisfy him to hear her say those words? Then again, she would not have been surprised.  
  
"You turned the world," he said sulkily. "This was not meant to happen! Don't you see Sarah? You've done this!"  
  
"Done what?"  
  
"By being here, everything is now for you. The price for what you did to my home - I have to keep my promises."  
  
Sarah did not understand. He could see the impatience and ignorance in her eyes.  
  
"The most important thing to me determines the construction or ruin of this castle," he continued. "Until you returned, the only thing that mattered was the strength of these walls."  
  
Sarah detected his moody, aristocratic slur.  
  
"You're just a spoilt brat!" she yelled.  
  
"So are you!" he shouted back childishly.  
  
She took in the meaning of what he had been saying and started to giggle ruthlessly. "I matter to you?" She laughed.  
  
"Do not attempt to toy with me, child." Jareth grabbed her about the waist and brushed a hand voluptuously from her face, across her heaving breast, down to the contours of her hip. "You're just *business*."  
  
"That may be true, but it's a contract you must hold to, right?" Sarah fought his dominating strength as her mind latched onto hope. "You're saying that every lie you ever told is now true?"  
  
At that moment the look upon Jareth's face told her that he had no control.  
  
"Only if that is what you wish," he said.  
  
She glanced wickedly at him. "Even the part where you said you would be my slave?"  
  
He gripped her viciously, bringing his eyes in line with hers, challenging her every thought.  
  
"I warn you, dear girl, you do not know the path you walk."  
  
Sarah broke free, laughing hysterically. She skipped about the room, her dress billowing like a beautiful spring flower. "Then you shall have no choice but to let me go!" she cackled, sounding as devilish as he.  
  
"Sarah, I really wouldn't-."  
  
"I wish that the lies you told be pure truth," she enunciated firmly.  
  
Jareth closed his eyes. The pendant glowed at his chest, streams of light shooting from the large jewel embedded in gold and washing the world in a myriad of blurred colours. Sarah gave out a sudden cry of pain and collapsed. She looked up at him weakly, failing to find pity.  
  
"What have you done?" she gasped.  
  
"Me?" he replied, his returning power present in his tone. "*I* have done nothing."  
  
Sarah got to her feet shakily, finding the pain was subsiding. The longer she averted eye contact from him, the better she felt. She could not understand what was wrong, if she was sick or not. It had to be his fault. It had to be.   
  
"I can go home now?" It was less of a question, more of a statement.  
  
He did not reveal the humour that should have accompanied his response. "I never said I'd be an obedient slave-."   
  
She cut in with the line she knew so well. "That's not fair!"  
  
"But I did promise to be generous," he finished.  
  
Reluctantly, Jareth raised an arm trailing a fantastic shimmer of starlight on the sleeve. Twirling his hand as he once did to alter time, he used it to open a portal in the wall. Sarah could clearly see the plush safety of her bedroom and it brought tears to her eyes. What she could not decide was, why. It should have been simple. That was her home, her freedom. The truth was it felt like none of those things.  
  
Forcing herself to pull together, she walked straight at the door; and stopped. The harrowing ache in her heart screamed and wrenched tighter. She could not stop the tears coursing down her cheeks, creating furrows in the layers of dust.  
  
"Then why can't I leave?" she asked aloud.  
  
Jareth walked up behind her, gracing the carpet to lay a hand on her shoulder. She shivered at his touch and whirled around, her eyes wide with horror.  
  
"Don't hurt me!" she yelped, unable to prevent it, suffocating in the confusion of the terror gripping her insides.  
  
"Such a pity, careless Sarah, to remember one half of a promise and neglect the rest," he said, ignoring a stray spike of blond hair that had fallen into his vision.  
  
Sarah frowned at his words.  
  
"Do you forget that for me to become your slave, you would have to fear me, and-".  
  
"Love you." It dawned on her. She shook her head in disbelief that her own heart could betray her. It made the tears flow freely. It made the anger burn.  
  
"It's not true! The wish is false!" she screamed in his face, as though it would make a difference.  
  
"Then go home." For once he had provided an argument without intending to. The reality of her feelings ripped through her like razorblades. She knew he knew and she had failed.   
  
She had lost the game.  
  
Sarah fell forwards, supported by his arms, which then released as she caught hold of the hem of his cloak. She buried her tear-stained face into the material that breathed his scent, wanting it to smother her. His porcelain features remained emotionless as he watched the wretched being clutching at him, his true thoughts disguised with a practised act.  
  
"Jareth, please, come with me..." she wept, lifting herself to lay her weary head upon his chest. "I can't bear..." She trailed off, clinging to him as if her very life depended on it.  
  
The King of the Goblins gave an expression of indifference.  
  
"Sarah," he said, with an edge of cruelty. "The promise I made was *your* love, not mine."  
  
Before she could reply, if she had even been able to, Jareth kissed Sarah passionately then threw her at the opening in the wall to land like a rag doll on her bedroom carpet. The entrance to the Labyrinth closed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As the year drew to an end, Jareth continued to watch Sarah through his crystal; the frequent show of her sobbing broken-heartedly in front of her dressing table mirror, crying out his own name. He shut his eyes, straining with all his power to keep them from turning glassy. The goblins were now redecorating; tearing up the carpet, smearing the walls with dirt and grime. They even offered to smash the chandeliers but none of them wished to debate further with the King's bestial snarl.   
  
A patrol of city guards answered to a strange commotion out in the corridors. The sound of a large beast's roar reverberated through the throne room. The squabbling was a mixture of metallic crashes and bizarrely polite yaps.  
  
"Unhand me sir! Where is my lady? Ludo! Kindly put down that young chap. I was attempting to negotiate!"  
  
Jareth appeared to care very little for the happenings in his home. It seemed nothing could disturb his endless trance. Nothing except...  
  
A young man burst through the doors, pursued by a number of armoured guards. A small crown perched on his golden head, strips of tatty, purple velvet robes hung down his shoulders, torn even more as the goblins rushed forward to restrain him.  
  
"Damn you Jareth! How could you do that to Sarah?" the man cried, his face creasing with hurried age. "How could you do that to *yourself*?"  
  
"I'm not ready for her to know it yet, Prince Hoghead," Jareth said plainly. "I'm not ready for myself to know it."  
  
As the prisoner was dragged kicking and screaming something about a mispronounced name, the Goblin King glanced once more upon the girl who melted and broke his heart then allowed his bitter laughter to fade on the air of the Underground. 


End file.
